


Sangre de la Rosa

by steponmeasra



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: BDSM, Blood Play, CBT, Caning, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Hard Lemon, Impact Play, Knife Play, Masochism, Sadism, Subspace, d/s dynamics, heavy impact play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29253657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steponmeasra/pseuds/steponmeasra
Summary: A friend asked for some naughty masochistic Jucio spice, and naturally, I had to oblige… Hope I didn’t go too overboard  🙊 Read at your own risk folks lmfao
Relationships: Julian Devorak/Lucio (The Arcana)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Sangre de la Rosa

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: “Rune” by Clams Casino ⚡
> 
> Disclaimer: VERY hard smut - All scenes and boundaries have been discussed and consented to by both parties ahead of time. 

Not like floating. More like… Being submerged. Sinking somewhere deeper inside himself, past the acrid mists of anxiety and neurosis, beneath the swamp of his own thoughts and fears. The sound drops out like shattering glass, the world simply falls away. He dissolves into something more base, the bones, alone, of the twisted, needy, writhing thing at his core. 

“I can’t hear you,” the voice sneers just before another line of fire cracks and sizzles over the skin of his backside. He can’t help but gasp and cry out as his vision blackens on impact. 

“Nineteen,” Julian gasps. The pain is like a bare plam over the fire, searing and pulsating as he shivers and his cock jumps. “Thank you, Sir. Please, may I have another?“ 

His begging is scripted. The last shreds of his feathering mind cling only to the desire, the all consuming need to be useful, to be obedient, to please his Master. 

Nothing else exists outside this room. The only sounds are Julian’s labored breathing, the whines he is helpless to hold back. His mind has melted down to the molten compulsion to do as he is ordered, and to relish the heavy blows that follow. 

No worry, no fear. No thought. Just the quickening of his heartbeat, his leaking cock hanging heavy between his legs, and the sick sound of his flesh splitting under the merciless impact of the cane in the Count’s hand. 

The sound of air rushing is the only warning before the next blow. Julian gasps and chokes on his tears, his cheeks already stained with salt and his jaw shaking from the exertion. "T-twenty. Thank you, Sir.” The pain is white-hot where the cane has split him asunder. Tender bruises bloom lapis, aegean, razzmic, indigo from the paddles and whips of the evenings foreplay. The rivulets of blood dripping down his thigh feel like rivers of acid against his flushed skin, making his hardness strain and leak onto the silks below him. His sickness leaks from the tender, swollen head of his cock like a sieve. 

Julian sucks in desperate lungfuls of breath to steady himself where his elbows and knees threaten to collapse; to keep from retreating into unconsciousness, or from cumming, he isn’t sure. 

A hand grips his throat and pulls him up roughly, choking him as he settles back against Lucio’s bare chest. He can feel how the wet, tender lacerations on his thighs and ass stick to the Count’s skin. His own blood weeps in small streams down his thighs; the sight makes him dizzy. 

“Pathetic,” Lucio breathes smugly into Julian’s ear. “Look at you. You’d cum if I let you, wouldn’t you? You love letting me break you, Jules. Look how fucking hard you are.” Lucio playfully slaps Julian’s aching erection with the flat of his golden palm and breaks into sadistic giggles at the way his poor, blushing submissive cries out in anguished need. In the reflection of the mirror before then, Lucio’s golden blonde is lit into a halo of flames by the salty tears blurring Julian’s vision. 

“Tell me you like it when I make you bleed,” the Count cooes seductively into his toy’s ear. His voice is as thick and saccharine as honey, deadly and delicious, a dull throb to offset the pinpick-needle sensation of his golden gauntlet dragging down Julian’s sternum. Delicate vermillion springs erupt on the surface of his blushing, sweat stained skin and roll like scattered pearls down the heaving expanse of his chest. The sensation is almost delayed; Lucio’s gleaming gauntlet is so sharp the razor edge of his pointer finger splits ribbons into Julian’s skin before the pain can even register. 

“I like it,” Julian gasps as the sharp pain makes his eyes water and his breath catch. He hiccups, “I l-like it when you hurt me—when you make me— _oh, Gods_ —make me—make me bleed." 

Julian’s eyes bulge in arousal and fascination. The way his delicate skin pulls apart and flushes with such ease under his tormentor’s hands, spewing tiny ruby rivulets and igniting like masquerade fireworks in the skin along the cut’s edge. The color of his flushed skin is rivaled only by the carmine blood beading along the ridge of the Count’s clawed finger. 

Lucio grins in a way that turns Julian’s stomach and makes his cock throb painfully. Something feral and animalistic sits at the base of the Count’s gaze, something truly sadistic—his own hardness presses insistently against Julian’s ruined, quivering backside. "I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” the Count snarls. 

Julian can only smile beatifically and sink further into his captor’s harsh embrace, quivering and leaking blood and cum all over himself. “Please,” he begs through his tears. 

The Count sneers and shoves him face-first into the expensive linens below. “Fucking pathetic,” he spits as he aligns his hard cock with Julian’s aching hole. The blood marring his gauntlet leaves a stain on his hard, heavy shaft. Julian cries out in anguish at the rough, tearing pain of his ass being violated so suddenly. 

Nothing else exists. The incessant buzz of real life, of failure, death, abandonment, the screaming pain of inadequacy, of fear, of regret, of shame—drowned in the heavy, choking sobs that accompany the feeling of his hole being forcefully stretched again and again by Lucio’s cock ploughing in and out. He can hardly breathe from the heavy, smothering burn of his chest, his ass, his neglected cock, the sting of his wounds, the way his ears ring, the weight of Lucio inside him, the grip on his neck—

“Please,” he begs. “ _Please_ , I can't—” He’s shaking underneath Lucio’s grip. “Fuck, please—fuck, I can’t, _I can’t_ —please, please, _please_!” Lucio only thrusts into him harder, both hands slapping the tender flesh of Julian’s ass as his harsh laughter rings out. 

Before Julian can stop himself, he’s convulsing with the heavy, pulsating waves of his orgasm, his cock jumping erratically as it spews all over the plush bedspread below, lost in the sensations gripping his spine and making his eyes roll back. The Count’s cruel laughter rings out over the muffled sounds of Julian’s pained moans. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, ya filthy heathen. Hit ya girl up at tumblr/steponmeasra ✌️


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